His pained eyes zip to mine with panic, and all I can do is laugh. “Maybe you should sit over there and look through the magazines for a little while.”
I point to the opposite wall, where Alice’s husband usually sits when he joins her at work. Cameron practically sprints to the safe harbor. Alice mutters something in French, and I get a few key words that I’ve learned over the years, most notably “idiot men.”
Alice ushers me into the dressing room and I strip from my jeans and T-shirt to slip into the gown. It feels like an expensive hug as I slip it up my body, poking my arms through and letting the weight of the fabric hold me to the earth. There are places where I feel it’s loose, and Alice spots them as soon as I step out of the dressing room.
“Ah, yes. There. Don’t move,” she says, pulling pins from her mouth.
I spin slowly with my arms straight out, and when I rotate so I’m facing the chairs where I sent Cameron, I’m hit with his look of wonder. I blush instantly, my skin reddening enough that Alice notices it creeps down my neck. She glances over her shoulder to see Cameron standing, hands in his pockets as he stares at me with adoring eyes and the kind of smile reserved for admiring art.
“He likes it,” she says, smiling at me and winking. “You like this idiot who thinks this dress is a cake?”
I giggle then nod.
“I do. I like this idiot very much,” I say.
Alice gives me a puckered smile before nudging me to turn more. I try to maintain eye contact, but eventually I have to give in and look ahead while she pins spots on the back of the gown where it swoops down to the curve of my spine. This was my favorite thing about this dress. It’s what sold my mother on it, too.
“Okay, I think I have it. Wait here and let me get the tape for a few places.” She pats my shoulder gently and slips off to her back room where the magic happens. I turn, lifting the heavy fabric gathered around my ankles. Cameron steps up to the platform I’m on the moment I face him, quickly erasing the inches between us so he can lift my chin with his fingertips and kiss me softly.
“I didn’t get it before. The dress. I get it now, though. I’m pretty sure it’s the woman,” he whispers, his mouth brushing against mine. A devilish chuckle slips out as he nips at my lips one more time before sliding one hand around my waist until it’s flat against my bare skin. His touch sends shivers down my body, and I tremble in his arms. He holds me closer when I do, taking advantage of the situation I fully put out there to be taken advantage of.
“I can’t wait to see what we look like together—you in a tux, me in this dress,” I say.
Cameron’s eyes hold mine, the smile on his mouth frozen in place as his focus drifts from one eye to the other. We only talked briefly about the gala. I knew he had to work as part of his punishment for the whole boxer short incident, but now that Welles wasn’t officially serving as a named host, I thought maybe he would be free to be mine for the entire night.
“You don’t have to work still, right? That’s done. I mean nobody from Welles will be there, except our friends and the people my dad knows. Your grandparents aren’t—”
“I promised your dad I would stay home,” he says.
My hands drop from his arms, and I step back. But I step too far and slip from the platform and stumble onto the sofa covered in discarded dresses from the resale business attached to Alice’s shop.
“Mon Dieu!” Alice sets the tape down on a nearby table and rushes to help me back to my feet without tearing the gown.
“Brooky, I had to.” His head falls to one side as his teeth clamp down in the back. It’s a guilty expression. I’ve seen my dad make this same one before.
“No, you didn’t have to. You let him bully you,” I protest.
“I offered. Brooklyn, it was my idea. When you got that call from the press yesterday, I knew that showing up at a fundraising event in the city with me around would only feed the frenzy. There would be pictures on social media and things would escalate and get used in attack ads. You probably know the ins and outs of this better than I do.”
I breathe hard, my hand clutching my chest as I stand with flat feet a foot lower on the floor. Alice works to spread my dress out around me, checking to make sure the pins are still in place and nothing is torn. But I no longer feel safe in this dress. I don’t feel beautiful. I feel used, like a piece on a crowded chess board. An expendable pawn given up to save the king.
“And what about the rest of us? What about now? There could be someone sitting across the street waiting to snap a photo of us. The story will always be there, but my dad knows how to handle things like this. He has people for this.”
Cameron peers through the window at my suggestion, his brow drawn tight. He’s actually worried about that. His eyes flit back to mine, and I feel him leave, though physically he’s still here.
“Brooky, I’m just being careful. And only until the election. I owe him this after what he did for my dad. I owe him.”
“This is how it starts,” I mutter. Alice is working at my hem, and I can tell she’s listening intently to our conversation but I don’t care.
“How what starts?” he asks.
“Letting them make decisions for you. I bet your mom thought she was taking good advice and doing what was best when she cut ties with your father.” And I know the minute I compare us to them I’ve crossed a line. Cameron’s expression falls, his eyes touched with a hint of resentment.
“We aren’t my parents, Brooklyn.”
He called me Brooklyn.
“I hope we aren’t. Cameron, I want to be with you,” I plead.